Dreams in the Midst

I turned 40 on Wednesday.  I shared it with the people that I love the most, eating :)  That was lovely.  But I came into my birthday on the back of some physical cleansing I've been doing recently.  A good thing, and necessary for me to regain better health.  But in hindsight, a very unwise thing, to continue on with detoxes when your body is clearly telling you it needs a break, that you are taxing your own system too much.  That your ideas about what you want to get done here do not always fit in with the reality of how slow you must go.

Seems I don't get to have as much wisdom as I would like now at 40 :)  Perhaps the next decade, or perhaps the one after, I will get as much wisdom as I would like ;)  Because really, when it comes to almost everything, the slower the better.  Less is more.  This is why I plan, this Summer, to once again try to immerse myself in the world of test cricket.  Because what could be more delightful than a slow, meandering river of a sport, that allows you to read in the middle of it, to daydream?  Gotta love that.

The detoxes were why I found myself in a cloud of suicidal depression that night, with every inner demon screaming.  Feeling toxic.  A feeling I find hard to describe and which I have felt before when I had CFS and was on a big regimen of antibiotics.  Like a veil, that comes over your eyes, so your perceptions are warped (even more than usual ;)  A fog of confusion, of headaches, of brain fog, of toxicity.  A fog of ammonia, as the things you are cleansing themselves of die off and leave their poison in your bloodstream on their way through.  Cloudy ammonia, indeed.

That night, after distress, a dream:  a disembodied voice dream.  It's said that these types of dreams often occur in times of distress, coming directly from your soul to get your attention.  It said:  "Love comes from God.  You have to let God's love flow through you.  It doesn't originate from you, no matter how much your enormous ego wants it to."

My enormous ego doesn't like that much but the rest of me LOVES it.  Loves the thought, loves the idea, loves that river of flow.  There's a whole lot I don't feel sure about these days when it comes to matters of faith, of whether Jesus even existed at all historically, though I still love him as I used to.  But what hasn't changed though is the feeling and the sense, even if sometimes flimsy, that God is there weaved and wefted through everything, like a breath.  In the midst of it all, the good, the bad, the ugly.  Gotta love that, too.